Sauntering Vaguely Downwards
by GemmaNye
Summary: We all know the story, of Angel and Demon, of Light and Dark, yet quite how did the Rebellion come to be? And how was Crowley banished from Heaven forever? (AU, buckle yourself in for a long one - G N)
1. Sparks

**Heaven - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 23 days until The Beginning-ing **

Crowley hurried out of the dark alleyway (well, as dark as any alley or indeed street could be in Heaven), a sinister air of conspiracy about him, his brows furrowed and his white hair concealing half of his face, yet he didn't find it at all difficult to disappear into the crowd of Angels all busy-bodying their way about to various appointments. They made Crowley want to vomit, what with their charming smiles and unrelenting optimism - it was enough to make even the most level minded _human _retch, and the _humans _were still in the prototype stage - far too many fangs and dangly bits to qualify as being God's greatest creation.

If anyone asked Crowley what he was doing every Thursday afternoon in the Alley (and they were bound to, Angels are adapted to have very long noses, perfect for sticking them into other peoples' business. Crowley always said that the best way to spread a piece of news is to tell it to an Angel in confidence), he would always give them something vague or uninteresting like he was 'restringing his lute' or 'plucking his wing feathers', and upon the realisation that nothing juicy was going on, the Angel would quickly move on.

The truth of why Crowley frequented the Alley was in fact very juicy indeed, even for Angel standards. Crowley had, over millennia, realised that he was well and truly sick of this whole righteousness thing. Why follow God? She was just an old bat with a superiority complex - She had grown tired of being adored by Angels, She was now working on _humans _so She could have yet another species grovelling at Her feet, and Crowley would be damned if God didn't just forget all about the Angels the second these _humans _came along. He, and a growing number of Angels, shared this view. Every Thursday, they would gather one by one in the Alley, to be admitted to the rebel base and given a rousing speech by Lucifer himself - which always ending with raucous applause and very unAngelic noise, leaving Crowley with a lifted mood, and the fire of rebellion in his heart.

The golden haired Lucifer, whose piercing eyes and carefree smirk (coupled with his natural charisma), was a natural at this whole rebelling thing, he seemed the only one who was in no way anxious of what would happen if She found out. It was a terrifying thought that dwelt in the mind of every rebel, and not even the most confident could disguise the jittery darting of the eyes that accompanied an especially controversial comment by Lucifer. One had to admire Lucifer for his blind idiocy if for nothing else - no one else in Heaven would be so stupid as to organise a rebellion, yet he was the one who was. And any individuality in Heaven was about as common as a _human _without any dangly bits.

Crowley entered the elevator at Aziraphale's office block and began the slow ascent to the one hundredth and forty second floor. The Angel had been offered the ground floor office to avoid this very inconvenience, yet he had smiled graciously and said he 'preferred the view' from up there. In Crowley's opinion, any Angel stupid enough to have a floor number higher than their IQ shouldn't be given the responsibility to choose in the first place. Well Crowley would think that, given that he had at least twenty minutes of elevator time a day to be resentful about it (and Aziraphale believed that Crowley would in fact be upset should Aziraphale move his office, as then he would have to come up with something else to complain about).

At long last, the ping of the elevator signalled that Crowley had reached his destination. He strode his familiar route past gleaming offices, each with their shining minimalist designs, and he burst into Aziraphale's. Now, many offices in Heaven have the exact same, gleaming white facade, all of them in fact - except for the one Crowley was now standing in. He wasn't exactly the type to criticise interior design, but he had heard enough mutterings amongst the other Angels to know that Aziraphale's choice of decoration wasn't necessary popular. Where there should have been empty, open space, there was instead _Clutter. _This was truly a mess of biblical proportions. Stacks of books towered towards the ceiling, and threatened to discorperate any Angel who thought to himself _I wonder what would happen if I pulled a book out? (_And despite natural selection being a heathen myth etcetera you could see how it at least had a sense of humour). Shelves upon shelves of dusty ornaments covered the walls - this paired with the Angel's choice of a plush carpet gave the room a _quaint _atmosphere.

"So, Aziraphale" Crowley directed at the very startled Angel who was seated at his disgustingly large desk "The rebellion - Lucifer says that war could be only weeks if not days away, promise me-"

"A hello would be nice, dear, if it's not too much to ask" Aziraphale cut him off, holding his hands out in a surrendering motion, and Crowley caught his meaning immediately - _Be quiet, the walls have ears _(quite literally, in Aziraphale's case) - and marched to the behemoth of a desk, practically laying flat on it so he could whisper to the other Angel "promise me I won't have to fight you"

Aziraphale started at Crowley's sudden intensity and emotion - if he didn't know the other Angel better he would have thought that he was about to cry or burst into song "You know as well as I do that I'd sooner di.. be discorperated than have to fight you" Aziraphale replied, standing up and rounding the desk so he could speak straight into the other Angel's ear "and you know as well as I do that I would win" He said, his voice dripping with self-righteousness. At this, Crowley would have made an exclamation referring to male cow excrement, but curse words hadn't been invented yet (They were in fact invented in 1745BC by Harlem J Profanity, forever remembered as history's worst role model).

"Rubbish!" Crowley replied instead, scoffing at the thought "No offence, mate, but I'd wipe the floor with you"

"I thought the point of this talk is so we wouldn't get to see who would win?" Aziraphale responded sharply

"Good point, you never promised me it wouldn't come to that" Crowley said soberly, backing away from the other Angel

"Look, Crowley, I promise, I'd sooner die than fight you, do you want me to sign my name in blood or something because that can be arranged"

"No, no, it's fine, although that whole blood thing could be a good business venture once Heaven is liberated. And..uh... by the way Aziraphale" The angel turned around to look at him "I wouldn't let my side harm you, even after we win, I talked with Lucifer and we worked something out"

"Most reassuring" Aziraphale tutted and turned to look out at the spectacular view "I have the word of the Angel who is making a living by lying to everybody. What could possibly go wrong?"

-———————————————————————

The slam of the door as Crowley left had a frightening ring of finality to it, and Aziraphale almost wished he had said goodbye properly or wished the Angel good luck in the war. What was Crowley thinking? A rebellion against the Almighty? Even for Crowley's standards this was base - and now his misadventures were going to get him killed.

"For God's sake!" Aziraphale exclaimed in a rare display of emotion as he slammed both palms onto his desk (which some theoried was large enough to house a small family).

"Yes?" Spoke a disembodied Voice from directly behind Aziraphale, who promptly shot out of his chair and began to sweat profusely

"Umm...uh... nothing your Holiness, ju- just praying for guidance is all" Stammered the panicking Angel

"Aziraphale" the Voice spoke again with an admonishing tone "You are as good a liar as you are an interior designer, but I've been meaning to talk to you regardless"

"Oh? I would offer you tea but..." he gestured upwards "you know..."

"Well if you're offering refreshments, I'd love a biscuit" God said in Her best _it's technically you're choice but I'll smite you if you don't comply _voice.

"Absolutely... Lord, anything at all" Aziraphale scrambled for his biscuit tin and remained entirely calm as a custard cream went flying out of the open window of it's own volition.

"So, Aziraphale, I wish to talk to you about the rebellion." God said bluntly

"Rebellion? Well, I'll keep an eye out but I haven't seen anything you could call particularly rebelli-"

**"Do not lie to me, Angel" **She didn't need to raise Her voice to literally instill the fear of God into Aziraphale, who looked ready to collapse.

"There is a rebellion afoot and you know it. The only unknown is what they plan to do and _you, _Aziraphale, are going to tell me" God's tone didn't leave many loopholes for the Angel to wiggle around.

"I have indeed been talking with some... associates-"

"Crowley" God interjected

"Yes, Crowley, but all he has said is that Lucifer is planning a war, he said it could happen within days. They have meetings every Thursday and have a large following, please believe me, truthfully, that is everything" Aziraphale rushed through this and felt emotionally drained, but Crowley hadn't _technically _made him promise not to fess everything up to the Almighty, but he was sure that regardless Crowley wouldn't be best pleased.

"Lucifer? Can't say I didn't see this one coming if I'm honest, but even he knows that a war is just _too much paperwork. _He has backed me into an administrative corner, it will take weeks to finish all of their immigration documents."

"I beg your pardon, Lord, _immigration? _Are the rebels _going somewhere?" _Aziraphale felt oddly concerned about this offhand comment from God, but the Almighty works in mysterious ways etcetera...

"I'm afraid, Angel" God said matter of factly "that such intell is above your pay grade"

And with that the Almighty left, leaving a shaken Angel and a room that was several shades darker than it had been beforehand. Aziraphale sprinted around his desk (no mean feat) and wrenched the up the telephone.

_"Miss me already?" _Drawled the confident voice of Crowley from the other side

"Listen to me, Crowley, we need to talk"


	2. Embers

_"I'm going to overlook the fact that you blabbed to the Almighty" _Crowley reasoned from the other end of the line _"If and when you decide to let me know in which way Her most holy boot is directed"_

"Believe me, Crowley, if I knew that you'd already know. I mean..." Aziraphale trailed off, a nasty thought furrowing his brow.

"_What? Any bright ideas would be greatly appreciated"_

"I mean... She could just... move you to Earth"

_"Earth?!" _Aziraphale moved the reciever away from his ear so as to not be deafened by this exclamation.

"_Let the Almighty know that I'd rather be kicked to death by a haddock." _And with that Crowley slammed down the reciever, and Aziraphale couldn't really blame him.

Earth - although still in it's prototype stage, wasn't exactly any Angel's dream holiday location. All fire and brimstone, the torched, barren landscape was in no way suitable for these _humans _that God keeps going on about - clearly this was just a learning experience for God and She would scrap it and progress onto more... _sophisticated _ventures.

"For... Pete's sake" Aziraphale said with exasperation "It's not like he deserves anything less than" he wrinkled his nose "_Earth"_

If Crowley knew where he was actually destined to be sent, he would have thought that Earth looked like a liquor shop on Black Friday.

———————————————————————

Crowley entered his base of operations (most would call it an office, but Crowley wasn't most people) and officially the most dingy room in Heaven, with only seven windows in it. Crowley's role in the ineffable plan, unlike the majority of Angels, had nothing at all to do with the impending Beginning-ing, but was instead the closest to Evil that Heaven would allow within it's walls - Crowley was on the loan approval committee. Angels would knock on his door, take a seat in The Chair, and pitch a business venture to the committee (The last Angel had been as wet as an otter's pocket and had requested a small fortune so he could invent something called _democracy - _it had sounded like a tremendous waste of time so Crowley had sent him packing).

To be perfectly candid, both aspects of his job description were in fact incorrect, since he is the sole chairperson, secretary, treasury and _member_ of the committee, and there was no actual approving of loans going on (but lots of begging and declining so Crowley got along just fine).

Crowley let out a withering groan as he collapsed into his desk chair. "You're out of your depth" He declared to the room in general, and the windows gave him a sympathetic look "It was all well and good a few months ago, easy enough to have a nice old fashioned _moan_, but now..." He breathed out heavily through his nose, and put his head in his hands, elbows supported on his very sensibly sized desk. "Now you've gone and buggered yourself, haven't you" Crowley raised his eyes to the small wilted pot plant on his desk, something Aziraphale had said had given him an idea. He wrenched it up and brought it very close to his face "I" He spat "am going for a walk and you" The Angel ripped off a leaf "are going to stop that wilting business whilst I'm away aren't you? Because" he brandished the leaf violently "there is a lot more where that came from" Crowley dropped the shaking plant down on his desk, and with a menacing stare, took off out of the door.

———————————————————————

"So let me get this straight" The purple eyed Angel said witheringly, pinching the bridge of his nose "You would like to go-" he gazed down at the papers in front of him "_down to Earth?! _For an..." he skimmed the stack of papers again "exploratory visit"

"Yes, Gabriel, I did sort of explain this to you earlier," Crowley said irritably "but I suppose you wish to nit-pick the finer details for dramatic effect" the Angel gave a disingenuous smile to the Archangel who was fixing him with a steely glare.

"What could you possibly wish to do down there? It's a stinking pit of sulphur and molten lava, rea-"

"I know all about _the sulphur and the molten lava _it's all the Almighty ever goes on about" Crowley cut Gabriel off "and do you know what I think? I've eaten appetisers with a less appealing description than that so I really don't see what all the fuss is about"

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, weighing up his options. On the one hand, if he were to let the Angel down there he would likely be permanently discorperated, and the thought of this cheered him up immensely, although there would be so much _paperwork - _Heaven was so uptight about administration that it was said that one could wander into the Almighty's file cabinet and simply never return.

"Alright, Crowley, you can go" the Archangel exhaled at last, leaning forward on his desk suddenly so he was face to face with Crowley, who didn't flinch at their proximity "as long as that means I never see your face again" he spat, purple eyes fixed on the dark ones before him.

"Oh come on, your Holiness" Crowley smirked, having forgotten to blink quite a while ago "I don't think for one second you wouldn't miss me" he backed away slightly and winked "deep down" and with this the shorter Angel spun on his heel and marched out of the office, one destination in mind.

-———————————————————————

"Absolutely not!" Aziraphale exclaimed, regarding the Angel who was leaning almost flat against the unholy desk "it's a stinking p-"

"Stinking pit of sulphur and molten lava, I know" Crowley rolled his eyes "but better there than wherever the hell" he pointed violently upwards "is going to send the lot of us"

"I won't let you, it's far too dangerous" he said, his brow creasing into it's usual anxious expression as he stood up.

"C'mon Aziraphale, face facts" Crowley, who couldn't be bothered to trek around the entire desk, snapped his fingers and walked straight through it to face the worried Angel. "If I stay and fight in the rebellion then" he pointed again to the ceiling "will kill me, if I stay but _don't _fight in the rebellion then Lucifer will kill me, but if I go down to Earth and wait it out then..."

"The sulphur and molten lava will kill you" Aziraphale finished for him, desperately thinking of a way to save his friend.

"_Might" _Crowley stated matter-of-factly "_might _kill me"

"Oh for... Heaven's sake" Aziraphale placed his head in his hands and breathed heavily, and Crowley was very grateful that heart attacks hadn't been invented yet.

"It'll be fine, Angel, I'll be fine"

"No." Aziraphale said suddenly, lifting his head to stare at the other Angel. "It won't be fine. Not when you're gone, Crowley, they'll want to make and example of the lot of you. Don't you ever stop to think how your actions affect other people?" He took a step closer and his voice gained intensity "affect _me?" _

_"_Nah, you'll be fine, Aziraphale" Crowley said angrily, "it's me who's going to be shipped off to kingdom come! Everything's just about you, isn't it Angel?"

"You know that's not what I mean" Aziraphale blurted out, clearly wounded by his words as he faced out to the window, which took up the entire wall, to hide his emotion "I... I just..."

"What is it?" Crowley said, still annoyed.

"You have no idea what it's like when you're not here" he spoke, much quieter than Crowley's harsh tone. "It's so... quiet... and depressing"

Crowley looked suitably admonished at this, and met Aziraphale's eyes sombrely.

"Can't be that ba-"

"You have _no idea, _Crowley, have you ever tried to make small talk with Angels? I swear the only way I can _guarantee _intelligent conversation around here is to talk to... to the wall!" Aziraphale continued, his volume and speed increasing "they're all just stuck up busybodies who further their own causes under the guise of the _ineffable plan_, they have no respect for themselves or each other and sometimes I just get so..." he trailed off "lonely"

"That" Crowley turned to look out at the expanses of Heaven "sounds like someone Lucifer would come out with"

"No, Crowley" Aziraphale said exasperatedly, stepping towards the other Angel so that their shoulders were touching "I just can't join you, you know I can't"

"Can't think why I expected anything different" Crowley spoke slowly, meeting Aziraphale's eyes for a long moment before he strode off, snapping his fingers as he walked through the behemoth of a desk. "I'm off to Earth, Angel. Would invite you but couldn't disrupt the _ineffable plan." _He called maliciously before he slammed the door, which was quite shocked, having been accustomed to the polite touch of Aziraphale's faultlessly manicured hands.

Crowley stormed out of the office block an excruciatingly long elevator ride later, and melded seamlessly into the throng of Angels all hurrying about to their post-lunch meetings (an Angel's schedule regularly being so packed that they must factor in extra meals to accommodate it). He then traced the familiar route through the towering blocks to his own grotty building.

As he continued _left right right left straight left, _the masses eventually became crowds, then gaggles, then pedestrians, with the number dwindling further until it was just him, weaving deeper and darker between shorter and shorter buildings. Finally, Crowley approached his office, his temper cooled somewhat and the start of what felt like remorse creeping into his consciousness. He was so engrossed in thought that he failed to notice something that would make even the most naive Angel a tad suspicious, and Crowley would think that the trees were plotting against him if one of them looked at him oddly. The door at the end of the narrow alleyway approaching Crowley's office was slightly ajar, and a narrow sliver of silver light cut into the shadowy alley.

It was only when the Angel reached out to turn the door handle did he realise something was wrong - very wrong. Crowley **never forgot to lock up, it was to avoid the occupational hazards of being one of the most hated beings in Heaven (well, strongly disliked).**

"Oh shi-" Crowley began before he felt a sickening blow strike his right temple, plunging his world into blackness. His kidnappers would later converse, sharing in the quite peculiar phrase their hostage repeated in his sleep. They were kidnappers so they were very much versed in the usual mutterings "mummy", "ow" and "ngth" being amongst the most common, but this one was unlike anything they'd ever heard.

Again and again, over and over, the Angel would just say _"Ziraphale... Aziraphale... ziraphale"_


	3. Flames

**Somewhere in the Rebel Base - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 22 days until The Beginning-ing **

The Angel awoke with a start, his ears ringing and his body completely disorientated. A piercing light stung his eyes, which were narrowed as he squinted desperately at the scene before him. After several minutes of sensory assault, he began to make out fuzzy shapes and colours. Crowley didn't want to admit it but it felt very similar to the last time he and Aziraphale had gone out drinking.

**"Rebel Crowley" **A voice boomed suddenly. It was deep, rolling, and seemed to demand something just by it's very presence. **"The time has come"**

"I'm sorry, I may have misunderstood you through my concussion, the time for _what _exactly?" Crowley groaned, his head feeling like it could burst - he was in far too much pain to fully appreciate the fact that he had been kidnapped in broad daylight.

**"The time for war" **it said simply, but the implications of this statement were not lost on Crowley.

"Woah woah... woa... war?" He felt a feeling of nausea wash over him "I... thought it would be days, weeks even"

**"We are lucky, Crowley, for the glorious day has nearly come" **he could sense the voice grin, and through his foggy mind he began to notice - the voice was... uncomfortably familiar.

"You know, you could really just have asked nicely and I'd have shown up before you could... swing a cat" Crowley lifted a hand to his aching forehead, and came to realise he was sat in a chair, and not a particularly comfortable one at that. "But I suppose you wanted to bring in the divine hit squad?" The Angel rolled his eyes, he would bet money that this had been Hastur's idea - the sickly looking worm had always hated Crowley, who decided that the moment their rebellious camaraderie came to end, he would go back to avoiding him at all costs.

**"We have our methods, Crowley. They haven't failed us before and they haven't done so now"**

"Lucifer" Crowley said plainly, more of a statement of fact than an inquiry, since his hazy brain had taken this long to fit the pieces together.

**"Indeed, I trust that Hastur and Ligur weren't too rough with you when they brought you in?" **The voice boomed, sounding vaguely interested at best - an attempt at the rebellion leader version of small talk.

Crowley lowered his eyes to his survey the damage, and even through his blurred vision he could still make out the patches of purple which decorated his forearms. Despite the pain and distress this caused, the Angel was still proud that Hastur was as predictable as he thought he was.

"Oh I'm fine... supreme leader... nothing a minor miracle won't fix" Crowley rushed, making a mental note to kill Hastur the next time he saw the bastard.

**"I will summon you and the other rebels when the time is right, until then, rest and heal, for soon you will fight, and the tyranny of God shall be over"**

"Sound good to me... see you then, Lucifer" The Angel managed, feeling like he would pass out any moment. Suddenly, it felt like a weight had been lifted off him, and he sensed that Lucifer had left. Crowley began to breathe deeply, his throat hoarse and his vision fading (now he was certain - this was exactly like the last time he had gone out drinking with Aziraphale). Then, with a deep breath, he extended a shaking arm and, with all of the strength left in his being, snapped his fingers.

The effect was instantaneous and as welcome as an antacid at an all you can eat buffet. Crowley sighed deeply, his head clearing and his pain trickling away. Now with perfect vision, he lowered his pale eyes to his forearms, to see the bruises disappearing in little puffs of purple smoke. He lifted his head back, then shifted it from side to side slowly, feeling his neck crack beautifully - Crowley didn't think he had felt quite this euphoric since he had come up with the concept of call centres (hives of desperation and depravity that rivaled Gabriel on a good day).

Now that he could think clearly, Crowley's mind edged reluctantly to one thought - Aziraphale. Crowley has never been a massive worrier, he'd left that job to every other Angel in Heaven, primarily his closest friend, who could hardly even leave his office without checking six times that he had his keys. But he was certainly worried now - if he was being dragged in to fight then Aziraphale definitely was as well, and he quite literally couldn't hurt a fly, and tended to apologise to inanimate objects that he bumped into. In a nutshell, the Angel would last as long as an ice cube in the desert in any war.

Crowley began to look around, and saw that he was sat in the centre of a room, a large one, high above the ground with a wall of glass and a floor that he could see his face in. He stood quickly, and marched over to the door, a mere patch of wall that only stood out by a gleaming silver door handle. Crowley reached out for it, wanting to free himself of the inexplicable notion that he was a prisoner in this eye-wateringly bright room. But then, as his hand hovered centimetres above it, his whole body froze in place. The Angel wanted to snap his fingers, to shout or blink, yet he suddenly found these simple tasks to be quite impossible. Then, a sensation of immense weight washed over Crowley, a feeling of heaviness that he was sickeningly accustomed to.

**"Rebel Crowley" **Lucifer ordered suddenly **"I think it would be better if you were to stay until further instruction" **his words were not an opinion, or a suggestion, they were law. Crowley felt the air being knocked out of him as he was flung, with incredible speed, at the opposite wall. But the pain only lasted a moment before everything went black.

———————————————————————

**Crowley's Office - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 15 days until The Beginning-ing **

"Crowley?" An increasingly worried voice called out "_Crowley?" _Aziraphale went at top speed from room to room (not _particularly _fast by any standards), scanning them for the third time, the only slightly suspicious occurrence was the pot plant on Crowley's desk, which now had infested the room to the point it that it rather resembled a jungle instead of the grotty office that was habitual, but Aziraphale rather liked it.

The Angel felt his anxiety rise despite himself - he had promised not to care, not to be bothered that his friend had disappeared, but if he was being honest, Aziraphale thought that Crowley's intention of going to Earth had been an empty threat. But now he was gone _and was probably already dead. _

Aziraphale collapsed into his friend's chair and took a deep breath, the air heavy with vegetation. He closed his eyes and pictured his friend - his sharp features, his spiked hair and slightly manic eyes. Aziraphale knew he was being sentimental, and he also knew that Crowley would have the perfect little quip ready to take the mickey, but the Angel couldn't blame him - he was just _soft._

_"_Okay, Aziraphale" he said to himself, trying to ground his thoughts "Crowley's gone and he's probably dead _but-_" The Angel stood, pacing round the desk whilst trying not to trip over the vines which covered the pale floor "he might not be" he then travelled to the far wall, tearing down the masses of foliage that concealed it. Underneath, as he had expected, were dozens of pictures, maps, and articles, most seemingly depicting Earth and it's topography, and some were panoramic shots of some nebulae that Crowley had helped build before he had been corrupted by this rebellion business.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and they all flew off the wall, the pins that kept them in place dissolving instantly. The yellowed papers surrounded the Angel, suspending themselves neatly in midair - it was only now that Aziraphale noticed the sheer quantity of them. He idly wondered quite how long Crowley had been planning to travel down to Earth, since some of these plans seemed decades old. The Angel stood in the centre of the room, scanning the papers with supernatural speed before discarding them with a swipe of his hand.

Aziraphale paused, taking in a picture of a stunning elliptical galaxy for longer than he really had time for - Crowley possessed a quality that was almost entirely unique in Heaven - an imagination. He would never admit it, but Aziraphale felt that creating and shaping the universe had been the one thing that had ever brought his friend true joy. And God knows he was good at it, as Aziraphale stared at the image, he was truly gobsmacked at the care and attention to detail Crowley had put into it and, for the first time in millennia, the Angel truly thought he could cry. It was all just so unfair, Crowley didn't deserve any of this, he deserved to be doing what he loved, free from all of this, and any ineffable plan that said otherwise wasn't worth believing in.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, focusing solely on his task when he opened them again - he needed to figure out quite where his friend had gone off to, and desperately hoped it was as volcano free as possible (not very, considering that Earth was about 95% volcano in it's current prototype).

After several minutes of straight searching, the Angel's brief flash of hope had begun to dwindle, to be replaced by a bubble of anxiety that got stuck in his throat. Aziraphale sighed and ran his fingers once through his white hair - it had been over a week since Crowley had stormed out of his office and he was becoming seriously concerned, not just that his friend was dead, but also that his friend's last memory of him would have been... disappointment... or anger... and this stung Aziraphale probably most of all. But he was not going to give up hope - he would find Crowley, even if it took him straight into the war.

———————————————————————

**Hey guys, Gemma here, this chapter was knocking on for about 4K words, and you know that nobody got time to read that, so I've just cut it in half, second half is coming very soon and is more dramatic than an episode of Eastenders wrapped around a stick of dynamite (pretty damn dramatic). Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy - Gemma x**


	4. Blaze

**Crowley's Cell, Rebel Base - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 14 days until The Beginning-ing **

Crowley had stopped fighting days ago. He lacked the energy, the will, and his sense of self-preservation. He didn't care what they did to him anymore, it was all just pain, flowing seamlessly from one source to the next. The Angel suspected he had been here for days, but for all he knew it could just have been minutes, but he didn't really care at this point. He was only aware enough to know he was slumped on the floor, his back propped up on the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him. His white shirt, usually pristine, had been torn and a trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth, dripping steadily onto the white floor.

Crowley had never thought about how he would die, but this... he wouldn't wish this fate on his worst enemy. Heck, he wouldn't even wish this fate on _Gabriel. _Lucifer had said this was what happened to traitors, to those who tried to escape their moral obligation to fight, but deep down Crowley knew that he was enjoying it immensely. Lucifer had changed. He wasn't an Angel anymore, he wasn't even a _human. _He had become something different, something more sinister, an entity that feeds and thrives in sin (quite like a bank, if you think about it). 

As he drifted in and out of consciousness, the Angel felt something - the sensation of being smothered by a blanket. It made him want to vomit - he didn't think he'd survive Lucifer's torment this time, but he couldn't see how this was necessarily a bad thing.

**"Crowley" **he said, malice being conveyed through each syllable. **"I trust that you are going to behave today"**

"Yes, Lord" Crowley said, his voice quiet and hoarse from lack of use. He hated this forced subservience with a passion.

**"Good, as the day has finally arrived to fight. You will kill and you will do it well."**

"Don't suppose I get time off for good behaviour?" He croaked, smiling grimly to himself before an explosion of heat soared through his left shoulder, causing him to shriek with pain and draw his knees right up to his chest.

**"Don't _ever _try to be funny again in my presence, Angel" **Lucifer threatened, not raising his voice but conveying the message just the same as if he'd shouted it. **"As long as we have that clear, I send you to the armoury, where you will be armed and prepared"**

Crowley gasped as the pain ceased as quickly as it had begun, feeling his limbs relax and spread out, not realising how tightly they had been contracted. Blood pooled gradually in his palm as four fingernail shaped gashes bled freely in his clenched fist. The Angel could feel his consciousness fading, and as his mind got foggier, he sensed himself being lifted slowly off the ground by arms that were not rough, but gentle and took care not to drop him. Crowley succumbed to his drowsiness and blacked out before he could make out quite who was whisking him away.

———————————————————————

**Gabriel's Office - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 15 days until The Beginning-ing **

"I'm pretty certain, yeah" Gabriel mused, thumbing through a file that was so big it would make an accountant dizzy "wait, who are you again?"

"Aziraphale, junior principality-" The Angel started, refraining from rolling his eyes as he repeated his statement from just five minutes ago when he had hurried into the expansive office with flushed cheeks and quickened breath.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever... but I can be certain that Crowley" he spat the name with malice "hasn't travelled to Earth yet, he's still here somewhere"

"My God!" Aziraphale exclaimed, paling and staring off into the middle distance - as he had just had a very nasty premonition.

"Sorry if I'm... _interrupting _anything important but I sorta have a meeting so... if you want to..." Gabriel made a shooting motion with his hands whilst making an irritatingly screwed up face.

Aziraphale's eyes moved left and right as if he was reading something very quickly, then, he stared right into the Archangel's purple eyes intensely and raised a hand deliberately so that it was level with his head, then snapped his fingers and vanished without a trace. Gabriel, slighly uncomfortable, shrugged and leant back on his chair, relishing his upcoming empty schedule as the sun began to set.

———————————————————————

**Aziraphale's apartment - 4005BC**

**One year, two months and 14 days until The Beginning-ing**

Aziraphale lowered the body he was carrying softly onto the four poster bed that dominated the small bedroom, and exhaled from the physical and emotional exertion of the last hour or so. He felt drained and almost guilty - as Aziraphale was certainly not a natural deceiver.

The exhausted Angel summoned a chair and began to survey his friend. He looked much worse than Aziraphale could have imagined - Crowley had several broken ribs, a fractured ankle and shoulder blade, not to mention the bruises that covered almost every inch of visible skin and the very worrying streak of blood that had dried up his cheek.

The Angel took another deep breath and opened his eyes objectively - this was not Crowley, but just a random entity that needed fixing. Aziraphale knew quite well that if he appreciated what was actually at stake, then he would be in too much of a tiff to be useful to anyone. So instead he lowered his head and got to work, muttering incantations softly as he hovered his hands over first the Angel's ankle, then ribs, then shoulder - each time tendrils of pale blue light left his fingertips and trailed across Crowley's skin.

Aziraphale placed a hand softly on the Angel's face, bruises disappearing as he brushed his thumb once across his friend's prominent cheekbone. He stayed like this for a second too long as he took in Crowley's sleeping face. Aziraphale couldn't remember a time when he looked this peaceful, this carefree. Even though the Angel liked to present a confident and casual facade, he knew that his friend was far less two-dimensional than he let on - he wasn't all wise-cracks and sarcasm. Crowley (as far as Aziraphale had been able to deduct over the hundred or so years they had been in existence) was a self-conscious creature - he had changed how he looked more times than a chameleon taking a stroll on a Neapolitan ice cream. Right now he wore simple black pants and shoes, with a (presumably) white shirt that he had unbuttoned slightly at the top. Aziraphale was sure that days ago he would have looked stylish and charming, but now he looked uncharacteristicly innocent and childlike, with the creases in his brow flattened and his clothes torn and dirtied. Aziraphale blinked quickly for a moment and then continued his work.

Crowley groaned quietly after God knows how long, his eyes squinting upwards at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was not the shining white favoured by the Almighty (supreme architect among Her many other titles), nor the flaking and cracked emulsion that coated the lungs of the two people insane enough to have ever entered Crowley's apartment, instead it was warm, with wooden panelling extending far on either side of him. With these two very encompassing possibilities eliminated, the Angel could only pray that he was in fact in the third option, as opposed to another Rebel torture chamber, this time decorated by a grandmother with a doilie fixation.

Crowley pushed himself up onto his elbows, beginning to notice quite how much pain he was in, but he was hardly surprised considering what Lucifer has put him through. That thing had said he was strengthening him, making him more resilient to any torture the Angels inflicted on him, but Angels weren't creative enough to be half as good as Lucifer. In actual fact his treatment served as a punishment (which Crowley could admit he sort of deserved) for breaking a very simple rule: stop trying to run away and I'll stop torturing you. However Crowley had never given up - whether trying to kick down the door, jump out the window or miracle himself out, the Angel maintained that escape was possible. That deluded mentality had only lasted a few days. After that point Lucifer had been enjoying himself too much to stop, so Crowley was left far too weak and far too depressed to even consider another attempt at running away.

The irony of Crowley's predicament was not lost on him however, because the more he tried to escape torment, the more it was inflicted on him. But eventually Lucifer gave up the pretence of punishment so it mattered little either way.

The Angel scanned the room before him with his pale eyes, unnerved slightly at how unfamiliar it was. Rooms in Heaven were generally so similar that they gave you the impression of having been there before, which had always creeped Crowley out if he was being honest. This room though - there was only one being in Heaven with a sense of style simultaneously so dated and futuristic, but Crowley couldn't quite bring himself to believe that Aziraphale had somehow rescued him. He couldn't quite connect the dots between his bumbling and righteous friend and an infiltration of a facility that was more difficult to get into than a vestal virgin's chastity belt.

Books and scrolls were stacked high at every wall, mostly work related because unfortunately without _humans, _literature wouldn't be invented for another thousand or so years, but Aziraphale still kept himself busy by reading first drafts of the Bible. He maintained that the book was full of plot holes and he would be surprised if it sold a single copy, and Crowley agreed with him mostly - it was complete rubbish but _humans _were just the type to lap it all up. An intense light filtered down from tall windows, which helped highlight the quite hideous amount of dust that coated every surface and drifted through the stuffy air.

Crowley sat up against the headboard, too achy and exhausted to attempt anything further. He reached a hand up to a tender spot on the back of his head, wincing as his fingers found it beneath his short white hair. Then, for the second time in a week, Crowley reached a hand forward and snapped his fingers. It wasn't perfect, but it felt amazing to have enough energy to at least partially heal himself. The stiffness in his joints instantly halved and he felt his bruises reduce in intensity, but he sensed that a few cuts on his face and neck remained still, and a gash across his cheekbone throbbed painfully as if trying to rebel against his efforts to remove it.

The Angel swung his legs over the side of the bed and unsteadily got to his feet. It could have been worse - the paperwork that would have been waiting for him if he had been discorperated didn't even bear thinking about. He rounded the four-poster slowly, passing framed portraits of galaxies and nebulae, several of which he recognised as his own - at least Aziraphale had good taste in celestial entities.

"Angel?" Crowley called, his voice dry and cracking as he stepped out of the bedroom and into Aziraphale's apartment, an eclectic shambles he recognised well. Surely enough, the short Angel was reclined on his dark leather couch, fast asleep and dead to the world. He had dark circles beneath his eyes and even in his sleep looked anxious about one thing or another. When he heard Crowley's shout, he stirred and his brown eyes fluttered open, noticing the bruised Angel stood before him after a few moments. Aziraphale's hand flew nervously to his forehead and he leapt to his feet, a relieved expression on his face.

"Crowley, thank God" he said, taking steps towards his friend.

"No need to thank Her, Angel, you're the one who rescued me" Crowley smiled, speaking softly. "Speaking of" his volume increased slightly "how in Heaven did you manage that?"

"Oh, well..." Aziraphale spluttered, looking at his feet whilst his face turned slowly red "when I found out you hadn't gone to Earth" he swallowed quickly "I just knew that you had to be somewhere you thought I couldn't find you, and the rebel base was quite obviously the place you were most likely to be" the Angel became more animated as he spoke "and when I got there, there were just so many Angels going about that they were hardly going to notice another one. And then," he leaned forward conspiratorially "I asked Lucifer where you were, and he just told me to take you to the armoury wherever that is but..." he trailed off and didn't speak for a second.

"What is it?" Crowley ventured, prompting Aziraphale on with a smile.

"It's nothing, just... when I saw you lying there..." his voice broke and he looked off into the distance "I thought you... you were..."

"Dead." Crowley finished for him, his face blank and somber as he processed the emotions passing over his friend's face.

All Aziraphale could do was nod twice hurriedly, looking into Crowley's pale grey eyes desperately. This whole altercation was making Crowley more nervous by the second, because although he was finally safe from Lucifer, the war would continue around them, and the thought of what would become of his Angel if he were to die was too much to handle in his current state.

"I could have been, Angel, if you hadn't rescued me" he said, lowering himself onto the couch stiffly.

Aziraphale noticed this and winced "you're in pain, aren't you" he said, surely about to begin fussing. "I tried my best, I really did, but your injuries were too severe and most of them were as a result of curses and you _know _how difficult it is to-"

"I'm fine, I had a go myself just then and I'm nearly back to normal, just a bit weak and achy" Crowley cut him off, knowing how jittery his friend would become if left to his own devices. His words had some effect however, as Aziraphale sighed deeply and took a seat next to him.

"I still don't have a clue what we're going to do about the whole... war business" Aziraphale admitted, suddenly looking old and weary as he brushed his forehead nervously with a pale hand.

"I suggest" Crowley began, turning his whole body and swinging his feet up so he was resting his chin on his knees "that we come up with a plan"


End file.
